Where the Mind Dies Session 3, Stipulation
Prepared for an overnight in the Asylum, the party head to the front gate, where they are to meet the city's Master of Coin, Torfinn Val. He shows up much later than expected and reeking of stale wine. A great, 30-foot-high brick building casts an ominous shadow over the intersection of mercantile streets below. Despite its foreboding presence, the ceaseless banter of merchants hawking their wares echoes among the vibrant, bustling shops situated around the asylum’s wrought iron fence which surrounds the building, 15 feet high and tipped with jagged points. Two large, swinging gates built into the fence hang gingerly from their rusting hinges, allowing access to the structure beyond. A whether beaten stone path guides visitors from the gates to the doors, bordered on either side by thick tufts of aggressive green and brown weeds and layers of gangly, parasitic vines covering most of the building’s façade, little other plant life exists on the grounds. A pair of heavily-armed guards stands at both the gates and the asylum doors, closely watching anyone who passes near. They stop the city's Master of Coin briefly before allowing him and his bodyguards entrance into the asylum. The cries of anguished souls and rattling cages fills the musty air. Two rusty, iron bar doors on the side walls separate this small chamber from a pair of long, dark corridors where the cacophony apparently originates. A rotting wooden desk sits in the center of the room, crowded with books, papers, quills and stained with old ink and wax drippings. Two flickering torches supplement the dim light from the corridors beyond. Seated behind the desk is a wide built human male wearing a long coat with sleeves rolled up. His arms proudly display tattoos of coiled serpents, and a weathered steel mace dangles from his belt. Lying in a circle around the desk are three large muzzled dogs, clearly bred for war, with jaws that look as though they could break a large man’s arm with one bite. The man introduces himself as Strigg, warden of Still-Mind, and guides them through the west wing towards where they will be staying. As he passes cells, the briefly names and describes each prisoner, assuring the party that this wing is where they keep the "regular idiots, not the deadly-mad or magic-folk." Marba Human female - Believes she was ravaged by demons. Won't stop sobbing. Max Orwelian Human male - Convicted of imbezzelment. Suicidal. Constantly goes on about how he's innocent. Max rushes the bars at the sight of the party. Max Orwelian “You don’t understand, I’m innocent. You have to get me out of here. Bad things... happen here. I saw her! I saw her! Lady Kel-” Warden Strigg cracks him in the mouth with his short mace. Strigg "That's enough out of you. These dogs are yipping mad. Don't listen to a word." Kazzmella Human female - She believes that she is invisible. She stands in the very center of her cell, her back facing the door. Kazzmella “They can’t see me.... the men... the not-men playing at being men... they try, but they can’t see me. I don't see them, they can't see me. They see you, though... always you. They see your mind.” Carl Czmaska Human male - Recovering greenwort addict. Carl Czmaska “I can’t take it anymore! All day the screams, all night... waiting! Free me! Free me or make me like the others! I'm not like them! I'll not sit and ripen like a tomato picked to early!” Warden Strigg "Ignore him. Once the greenwort is out of his system he'll be fine." ''' Marco Oleppa '''Human male - Disturbing appetites. '''Roams about his cell eating bugs and complaining about their ‘freshness.’ Marco Oleppa “Everything they touch is ruin. Nothing here tastes good! It's all rotten! ROTTEN TO THE CORE!” Gorslag 'Half-orc male - Aggrivated assault. Recent surgery by Decon Grete has had some success. Gorslag mumbles and clumsily scratches at a large scar that runs across the top and side of his head. He mumbles incoherently in a mix of orcish and thordic. Most of what he says is incomprehensable, other than the phrase "'watery voices.” Garek Trenves Half-elf male - 'A tall, well-built half-elf, and f'ormer adventurer, 'Garek sporadically scratches his skin and screams. 'His party was killed by some fiendish creature. Nobody knows what happened to him, but he won't shut up unless beaten. Garek Trenves "They're still in us! Barongar your sword! NOW! I need fire! FIRE!" Vorn Bronzemace Dwarf male - A naked and very hairy dwarf paces this cell, growling savagely and salivating. He believes that he suffers from lycanthropy, although several full moons have passed uneventfully. The party make their way to the visitor's room, where they will be staying the night. 'Tattered and stained cotton pads haphazardly cover the walls and door of this small room. The chamber’s meager furnishings consist of two wooden chairs that face one another in the center of the room and a table with 4 chairs at the far side. Iron shackles and leather wrist restraints have been bolted onto the arms and legs of the chair facing the door. 'Torfinn Val is expresses some frustration at being barred from going upstairs and directly accessing the reccords room. Warden Strigg orders a guard to bring the Master of Coin any reccords he may need, but unfortunatley, the upstairs and other wings are too dangerous. The party bed down for the night as Torfinn begins thumbing through reccords and drinking. It isn't long before he falls into a drink-induced sleep. Several hours into the night, a great wailing can be heard echoing through the halls, and a strange feeling of dread washes over the party. Moments later there is movement sensed beyond the closed door. It passes and the party carefully open the door to find nothing but a small puddle of briney water. The hall is dark and univiting, echoing with the tormented cries of the inmates. Closing the door does little to muffle the screams. Only a few moments later', four guards rush up the hall toward you. “We’re sorry,” one explains, “but there’s, ah, a small—we’ve got a bit of a problem. We really need for you folks to leave while we get it under control.” Torfinn is roused from his drunken stupor. '"Whatever. We've been here. I've got enough to get the idea. I don't need to pick through everything." Just before dawn, the party is escorted out and Torfinn congratulates them on a job half done. He gives them each 250 gold pieces before wandering off into the dawn streets. With more questions than answers, the party head back to the gate district. EXP and Journal